


No Song for this Feeling

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Glee
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-14
Updated: 2011-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-18 02:31:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel and Puck have a mall adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Song for this Feeling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stainofmylove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stainofmylove/gifts).



> AN: Written for stainofmylove. She also beta'd this for me when I wanted to post it. So, thank you for the marvelous beta work! :-) Any mistakes you see within are my own.

New Directions walked into one of the largest malls in the country slowly, carefully, as if they had been on a pilgrimage for many moons and had finally found the object of their adulation.

To Rachel, they looked like a hydra, connected at the body, but heads twirling around wildly. She would admit the mall was very nice, with its bright lights and the tantalizing aroma of diverse perfumes, but she had drug her feet getting off the bus and she did so now, shuffling along the marble of the lobby. Her intention was to let Mr. Schue feel the radiations of her displeasure. He didn’t notice, holding Ms. Pillsbury’s hand.

Rachel, who knew these things before anyone else, thought there was something in the way Ms. Pillsbury dressed brighter these days: now, she wears a nice red coat and hat for the weather. But never mind that.

Something bad was going to happen, Rachel just knew it. What price would the team pay for not listening to her this time?

She trailed behind the group, refusing to look at the decorations for the holiday. This was their big break. They had made it to the highest level of all for a school organization: a competition in glamorous Washington, D.C.

Or not so glamorous D.C., upon really being there…yes, she was rather disappointed. By a few things. Little things, but they were pebbles in her shoes, boulders in her peace of mind.

At the airport, there had mysteriously been one ticket seated away from everyone else. Of course, every single soul was heart-broken that someone would sit alone. Tina didn’t want to be away from Artie, and Mercedes informed Rachel that her favorite movie would be playing, and if she missed it, it’d send her spiraling into depression. Quinn needed someone familiar beside her if she got airsick.

It was a dilemma.

In the end, Rachel had cleared her throat and magnanimously took the isolated ticket.

“I know, you’ll protest, and miss my company, but for the good of the team-.”

“Nope, we’re good.”

She had ridden the entire flight with a woman drooling on her shoulder while she heard her friends’ laughter carrying down the aisle. She convinced herself that the heaviness in her chest was really just exhaustion.

At the hotel, they had all chosen their rooms quickly. Three girls had roomed together. Therefore, she had been all on her own. They said she needed her space like other famous singer’s did. Well, this was true. But…

Rachel had been looking forward to eating with them, but she always just missed them. It was quite mysterious. Being an early riser, she would wait for them, but they’d somehow come down for breakfast when she had gone off to search for them. Oh well, she was used to running different hours than the crowd. They couldn’t have been being anyway: Kurt even smiled at her. Everyone did when she was around.

Except for Noah. After practice, he’d disappear from the group. Once, she looked out the window and saw that he had claimed the pool area as his fiefdom, getting out the water with painful slowness. She had no idea why he was moving like a turtle but at least she wasn’t alone in thinking it was odd. The mothers sunbathing around the pool stared at him long and hard.

She thought of a Serengeti watering hole, with lions and animals, for some reason, and decided not to look anymore. It wasn’t her business as long as he did his part. In fact, things had gone well, overall.

The heaviness in her heart was because she was slightly nervous about her performance, and it could just as easily be explained as bubbling giddiness at this chance.

Things were acceptable as they were, but then Mr. Schuester sprung this mall trip on them in the ballroom. She watched in disbelief as no one saw the obvious problem except for her. After the excited chit-chat had died down, she raised her hand. Mr. Schue didn’t see her at first, clapping his hands with finality.

“Well, it’s all settled, then. At five o’clock, be in the lobby.”

“Mr. Schue? Mr. Schue!” she insisted, feeling her arm stretching out of its socket.

“Yes, Rachel?”

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Mr. Schue, but don’t you think we’d be too tired afterwards to perform at our very best?”

Kurt and Mercedes’ heads turned around to look at her very slowly.

“I think you guys would be okay. You worked hard, and this is our chance to see the city.”

“Ahem,” she said, and got to her feet. Clearly she needed to be seen and heard to save the day. She stood in front of her peers, who sat in their plastic chairs with stony gazes.

Rachel held out her hands beseechingly. “Botulism. Ebola. Swine Flu. The mall is a Petri dish for these risks. I say we wait until after the competition to visit the mall.”

“For only two hours?” Mercedes burst out.

“One hour. There’s the drive back to the airport.”

“This is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You can come back and see the building. It won’t be going anywhere.”

“Uh, some of us probably won’t be coming back here. I mean, being in this city is a one-time-thing, too,” Quinn pointed out.

“She’s not including herself in that,” Kurt pointed out, his arms crossed, with a smile on his face. “Are you, Rachel?”

“Sometimes sacrifices have to be made. I don’t want anyone to get hurt beforehand.”

“Just afterwards?” Brittany asked.

“Exactly,” she confirmed. Then…Mr. Schue uttered her least favorite words of all time.

“Let’s leave it to a vote.”

And here they were. Rachel refused to think about how they told her that she didn’t have to come along, and how she had looked to Finn for at least one vote…which never happened. She was never one to mope.

As she could have predicted, Mr. Schue and Ms. Pillsbury parted ways with them; she didn’t know if this was sanctioned by the school. This fieldtrip or…

“Do you guys suspect something going on between those two?” Rachel asked, once she had caught up with them. The crowd was boiling over, and she felt like a bumper car. She had to get in front of them though. Tina was wheeling Artie as fast as she could, though he could wheel faster than her. Mercedes and Kurt linked arms and were moving…really fast.

Finn and Quinn were walking together. Noah had vanished again, with his friends. Brittany and Santana often disappeared for reasons she did not know yet.

“I have a treat for you guys,” she bribed. They slowed down. Marginally.

“Water-bottles. Don’t drink any carbonated drinks before a show. By several hours.”

“Thanks, but we know and we can get those ourselves.”

“Ah-good thinking. But—Tina, you should take my advice and get your hair dyed to a darker color. Under the stage lights, it might turn-.”

“I k-know. You tell me e-every time you see me.”

And she was really struggling but somehow still being left behind. “I took time out of my schedule and I found us something amazing.”

They stopped. Looked at her. She had their attention.

“COUPONS,” she said proudly and held out all the price-cuts she had painstakingly printed out from the computer lab in the lobby. She prepared herself, holding out the coupons with her eyes closed. Her friends would be so happy that there would be a feeding frenzy for the slips in her gloved hands. Her ears would be assaulted with praise and thank yous and…

Rachel opened their eyes. Her friends were gone.

She was left standing alone.

***

Rachel placed herself in the corner of the food court, opening her book on personal relationships. The title: How to Make Friends and Be Successful. She supposed she needed a smidgen of work on her social skills, but once she had that conquered, doors would open up for her in every direction.

She inwardly beamed and sipped her herbal tea while reading. She wished she had a pencil to indicate the key passages because some of them were quite insightful. Other points were lacking. ‘Convincing someone to do something that they think is their idea but actually yours’… useful, but she didn’t know if it was fair not to claim her very own idea.

She didn’t feel the tell-tell ant-crawling feeling of eyes on her until page fifty. Glancing up, her eyes met a stranger’s. An older man, to be precise, with a widow’s peak. He was turned a full 90 degrees in his chair, his corduroy-clad arms resting on the back of the small chair.

And he was just staring at her.

She swallowed hard, dropping her eyes. Rachel was a girl who understood that part of the deal with having the IT factor was attracting all sorts of attention. It wasn’t the staring itself, it was the way the man was staring at her that made a chill run down her spine.

He wasn’t staring at Rachel Berry, talented singer and high school student, loved by both her dads. He was staring at a thing, a thing he wanted to use. A thing with all the personality of a blow-up doll. That hungry, greasy gleam in his rain colored, sickly eyes…and he didn’t care if he got attention for his behavior.

That was the truly frightening part.

Okay. All right. Keep calm, Rachel. Meditation, breathing, and composure. Don’t let him see you sweat.

“Hmph,” she commented nonchalantly, an action directed purely at the writing on the page, and marked her place in her reading. Standing up—not too quickly…she threw away her cup in the recycling bin and pranced away, holding the book tightly to her chest for defense and comfort. She didn’t like her chest at the moment; she didn’t like the way her skirt swirled around her thighs.

But her attire had no bearing on the situation. This man would bother her if she was dressed in a burlap sack.

Her eyes darted around, trying to find one of her friends, or her teachers. How alone she was became a palpable, suffocating cushion all around her. She was aware of her small wrists and small arms, and that a grown person could easily push her to the ground. She could see it happening in her imagination, vividly. See the headlines. See her dads’ expressions. Her face on a milk carton instead of a Broadway billboard.

It happens all the time.

Of course, she could be overreacting. He might have had his fun, or whatever, and stayed put. Corduroy didn’t have to follow her.

She paused in front of Gap Kids, and appeared absorbed in the display. She checked the glass.

Yes. He had followed, keeping a distance, unremarkable but for those eyes that were eating her up and picturing her naked. A thrill of horror flooded her, and she swallowed again. Fighting back fear and anger, a crippling mix if mishandled.

Lose him. Simple. Like he’s the paparazzi, seeing her for public consumption. This is like practice, and you have mentally practiced for this moment.

She hurried along, her feet beating a frantic falsetto on the marble. In her horror, she didn’t pay attention to where she was going. She turned corners and went up escalators and dived into crowds.

Rachel didn’t realize she had isolated herself in the Dillard’s department store until well…she was isolated. She had given her cell-phone to Quinn, oh my god, and she was going to pay for it.

A payphone.

Ah-hah. She berated herself but now she was in a corner without a payphone in sight. He was her shadow, long but constant, and while he stood near a counter—the gall of him, acting like he was looking at neckties—she looked at a dress, not seeing it.

She’d go to a guard. Somehow, she’d maneuver around him, without him pulling her into any dressing rooms or exit stairways. It’d be funny, if he were a famous producer and not a flasher/pervert, but she wanted to be alive to regard her judgment.

Mind made up, she-

“Oh man, is this is where you get your freak wardrobe and granny panties from, Berry?”

She jumped as if she had been shot. Noah smirked at her, hostilely, and she was annoyed at the relief that came at the sight of him. Annoyed with his whole being, frankly.

He had his capable hands hooked in the loops of his dark jeans like he was a gunslinger from a Western. He rather-kinda had the James Dean ‘devil-may-care’ thing going on, too. Where Finn shone, Noah smoldered, and he did so now, looking at the moo-moo dress in satisfaction.

“Support panties. That’s what they are, and incidentally, they work for women of all ages who want to show off their assets.”

He blinked. “Do you just seriously say assets?”

“You know I did,” she quipped. “Maybe you see everything as old because you need a hearing aid from your excessive iPod usage.”

“Whatever,” he commented and moved to swagger away.

“Wait,” she hissed under her breath, keeping him there. “What do you want? You want to say something mean to me? Well, you can go ahead and say it. All you want. Tell me off. About me spilling the secret, if it pleases you.”

“I don’t have anything to say to you about that,” he said coldly, oh-so-reminded. “I don’t have to explain anything, either.”

“Noah. Please,” she chided.

“They all ditched you, huh?” he asked, catching on, and he didn’t like the fact that he had caught. “You afraid of being alone? Weak. You should be used it.”

“I am,” she protested, and then retracted upon his smug look. “I plan to live in New York on my own! I just happen to think this excursion should be a group activity.”

“I think a lot of things should be group activities, but I never get my way,” he drawled, and judging by his eyebrow quirk, he had said something nasty. Rachel was about to just hit him on the head with her predicament, as shameful as it was, but then Noah looked over her shoulder.

He narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to grasp the metal side of the display. Kind of flexing, a little. “Well, I guess I better stay here so you don’t get raped.”

She gaped at how he had announced it, how dangerous he sounded, and how quickly he had ascertained things without having to be told. Rachel spun around to see her stalker’s reaction, only…the man was gone.

“Wow,” she whispered, staring up at him, dark eyes glowing. “You’re…you…do you realize…you stopped me from being kidnapped. You’re a hero!”

“Depends on how you look at it,” he muttered, and jerked his head back towards the main lobby. “He totally would have tried to give you back. I’m going to kill some time at the arcade. Come on if you’re coming.”

She followed him, still staring at him, mouth slightly open.

***

In the arcade, Rachel was witnessing a travesty.

Each electronic scream of a virtual soldier on the screen symbolized the death of Noah Puckerman’s optical nerves. She sat primly in the egg-shaped chair with her hands folded in her lap and tried not to slide off the seat and into the floor. Every surface of this place had the sheen of grease from fingerprints and body-oil. The screen of the video game machine was a light pastel from this occurrence; the flailing bodies blurred gave every player a case of near-sightedness.

Though far-sightedness wouldn’t fare much better.

It was also very loud in here, and every person was crammed into spaces in ways that should be physically impossible. But what truly captured her attention was how focused Noah was, his fingers flying across the controls and his face inches away from his targets. The muscles in his back jumped as he moved.

Some part of her wouldn’t mind that kind of attention. She tapped her own fingers along her knees and smoothed down her skirt. When he wanted to, he could be quite a…maestro of his chosen art.

“You have extraordinary hand-eye coordination,” she blurted out, leaning forward for him to hear her. “If you honed that into a real skill, you’d be unstoppable.”

“Hn,” he responded and took a sip of…his Coke. She pursed her lips and dug a water bottle out of her handbag.

“The carbonation really is bad for your voice. Why does no one listen?! You’ll regret it when you make us lose over it.” She held out the bottle entreatingly.

That got his attention. He clenched his jaw and then smiled, straightening up and stretching. Hm. She glanced at the strip of tanned skin he had revealed.

“I’ll drink the stupid water if you play the game.”

“Oh.” She withdrew her hand.

“We’ve got to hone your mad skillz,” he taunted, crossing his arms in challenge. “Or do you have any?”

“My coordination is perfect. Professionally-trained.”

“Then prove it. Talk’s cheap.”

“Okay. Fine. Take slow sips,” she instructed. He plucked the water out of her hand, looking her dead in the eyes, and it made something in her burn low when he did take a sip.

Taking out his wallet, Rachel noticed the logo: BMF. “Is that a new brand?”

“It would be if every guy out there had my skills. But you know how it is.”

She didn’t but she took the coins out of his palm. She was ready to be blinded and took the joystick in her hands. “I just aim?”

“And hit it,” he said, leaning in to see.

“You can hit it well?”

“…And often. Plus I can keep up the pace. It’s sorta my thing.”

“Well, it could be mine too,” Rachel said. She missed seeing him shake his head and smile at her with something close to friendly amusement. It didn’t particularly matter because his friendly amusement turned into general surprise, his mouth half-open on the bottle.

One of the little flesh-eating zombies tried to hide but she smoked them out with a bomb before the execution with the machete.

“Careful. The boss is coming.”

She was in a building, and just as he said that, something stuck its ugly head through the glass window before disappearing. It was crawling, and it was ugly. She jerked in surprise.

“What is that?”

“The main demon. Go through the door, like, press button A.”

“I don’t know if I want to,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“No worse than a Cheerio.”

“True.” By the end, it was messy, and he was shouting tips.

“I need a bigger gun,” she ordered, switching through her arsenal. Bow, bomb, flame-thrower-.

“There!” Noah said, and hit the screen with his finger, water spraying everywhere.

She glowered at her so-called helper.

“I’m sorry. Did I break your concentration?”

“No. I meant to fall off the cliff. Completely.”

“Then allow me to retort.”

“Allow me to express my surprise and congratulations at you knowing that word.”

There was a significant pause that went unheeded as she killed the monster, jumping off the walls and trapping him under a cage. She had shot the ropes off the cage above it, and now it was all a matter of-

“Oh come on. You don’t know where that line’s from? You’re deprived. I actually, like, feel sorry for you now.”

“NOT. NOW. NOAH. That’s THREE N’s!”

“Okay, zombie-killer.” He held up his hands in a yielding gesture. “Whatever you say.”

Winning that game was like she had been fighting for three years, in the trenches.

“That was righteous. Respect, Berry. Respect.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” And he crowded up to her, standing behind her to look at her score. She felt all warm inside. Pity it had to be a game which won her his admiration but she’d settle this time. “HOLY shit…that’s higher than my score.”

His admiration tapered out into something else less pleasant.

“I can’t help having a natural flair for hurling projectiles over a wide range,” she protested. He laughed, and it was weird—and made her feel funny— because he wasn’t being mean. She didn’t know what to do with this, or his next unprecedented move.

“It’s on.” He threw the bottle into the blue recycling bin by the machine (an admirable shot and an admirable gesture—though she doubted it was on purpose) and popped his knuckles. “It’s so on.”

For some reason, she didn’t want it to be ‘on,’ especially when things were going so well.

“Why don’t we play as a team? Our combined talents could give us a record-breaking score…on this machine, at least.”

“You know, since you’re asking for my sage-ness, then sure. I’ll play teams. Finn never does that because the special effects make him puke.”

“I don’t see why. The graphics are brutish but not intolerable.”

Noah rolled his eyes as he restarted the machine. As a team, she found they were like a bulldozer or a tank, untouchable and undefeatable. And this felt like a thing of its own. Their thing (that she’d guard covetously, not as much out of any sentiment but of a rare friendship).

It was nice.

“That’s not what I said, but I guess we agree. I don’t know how he’s gonna take care of a baby. They puke, and cry, and from what I heard, never stop-.”

“I get the picture,” she said, and suddenly, it’s as if a flood gate had been opened. “I’m inclined to agree. About Finn, I mean. He needs guidance, himself. He’s sweet, and he’d try with all his heart, but I think it’s too much stress for him. He doesn’t have initiative.”

“Thank. You. Like he was talking about his allowance money to pay bills one time, and that pissed me off. He keeps this kid stuff around but doesn’t know to sell ‘em on eBay.”

“I helped him get his job, you know, albeit a litt-.”

“Thanks a lot.” The tone dropped off their happy little concordance like a stone off a cliff. She got killed on the screen, and she stared up at him, startled, as he placed both hands on the game and just leaned there, reliving some deep disappointment. “I knew he couldn’t have thought of that himself. Shit.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Wait. What am I apologizing for?”

“You wouldn’t get it. We only have to be here for a few more hours, anyway.” He shot yet another undead person to make his point. “Just go.”

“I’ll just watch you,” Rachel said quietly, and moved back, her heart heavy. She hadn’t known what she had done this time. It was becoming a trend. He shrugged with one shoulder and played on in indifference.

Huh, she thought, and decided to wait it out. She fought back a horrible temptation to bite her nails because the tension was overflowing between them. His no-talk rule about serious issues was tiresome and immature, and she wanted to ask—no—demand an explanation. She wanted to shake him, or else slap him, but Noah would have to direct that Mohawk in her direction for her to vent her frustrations.

All in all, her big trip outside Lima was becoming a big flop because of other people’s bad attitudes. She sniffed slightly over her outrage, and the sounds from the arcade were becoming more annoying. There was a group gathered around this one game, and the player thought he was hot stuff. She could sense it. Over a video game.

“He thinks he’s gained a major accomplishment, but there’s no objective way to gauge if he’s good at that game or not. No one has challenged him at all.”

Noah looked over for a moment, his boredom written up large, but then something sparked inside of him. She felt the change, the shift, in his attention.

“You want to make it up to me? Right here, right now?”

She didn’t know what wrong she was making up for, but she nodded nonetheless. “The air will be clear between us, if I do…whatever the task is?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just follow my lead.”

Confused, she joined him at the edge of the crowd, watching the boy in question jump around like he was suffering from a seizure. No heart in his moves, he was just mechanically flailing in his white shirt and blonde hair and pale complexion. She doubted he went outside.

“Such a waste of time and potential,” she mourned, and someone nearby gave her a dirty look. Noah ignored her. She sighed and watched the game end, and everyone clapped for…that display.

“Eh,” Noah said, hands in pockets. “That was all right.”

“It was more than all right. I have the top score here,” the boy answered.

“Here, but I’ve seen better. Heck, I’d bet my…friend here could do better.”

Friend. She was touched, feeling as if she was walking on air. “Why thank you, Noah, I imagine I certainly could.” And she caught on. Just like that. “I’d actually bet a significant amount of currency that I could do better.”

“This should be good.” “I’d like to see that.”

The mood seemed to be for her to actually prove it. Which she didn’t mind. But there was one concern. She moved closer to Noah quickly.

“I should warn you, it is my first time.”

“Why don’t you say that a little louder, Berry?” he whispered into her ear, tickling the shell with his breath.

Rachel scrunched up her face, initially thinking Noah was scolding her. As a result, she was prepared to defend her position, complete with a mental list. But then she noticed the signs. Noah had his arm draped around her shoulder and had pulled her close to him, with the air of a conspiracy around him.

Correction: around the two of them.

This was just like a scene from a boxing movie.

“Ahem,” she cleared her throat, catching on. “This is the first time I’ve played this game. I’m a…as you’d say, a noob.”

In a brilliant play in tactics, he pretended to wince. He definitely had acting potential.

“Okay, you’re on,” the tall, surfer blonde announced, and a crowd began to gather. “You wanted to bet?”

“Hey man,” Noah feinted, his dark eyes perfectly serious in the Technicolor light. “Just with tokens and shit like that.”

“Let’s make it more interesting. Cash, or are you too scared after talking big?”

Trapped. “I can try,” Rachel said, putting her hand against her mouth in a show of anxiety.

“Uh…okay. I’m game if you are,” Noah admitted so-called defeat, and then, shame-faced, he began to explain the rules to her, pointing at the arrows on the ground. More rambunctious boys were crowding around and throwing in money in someone’s Colts hat.

“I don’t know what that means. Which arrow again? Do the colors matter? Can I just pick a favorite? I don’t have my glasses either, I left them in my hotel room.”

As if she would wear glasses or be so disorganized! But more money was thrown in with careless abandon. Her heart twinged a little, they shouldn’t be gambling at such a young age…But this would be a lesson not to judge people so quickly, and to be more frugal.

Plus, she kind of wanted to win.

“Crush them, Berry. Make them cry like a bunch of pussies,” Noah cheerleaded under his breath. (Though he wouldn’t appreciate the verb)

“I’ll annihilate them, and I’ll salt the fields of their razed and unnecessary arrogance,” Rachel reassured him, with a bright smile and an energetic ‘victory’ motion with her fists.

“Or do that. Yeah.” He moved her onto the pad in front of the blinking game, his left hand placed in the small of her back, and the manner in which he guided her made her now think of a (dirty) dancing movie. Like she was on his side, like they were in this together.

Rachel took a deep breath and waited for the blonde boy with the long legs to take the place besides her. For some reason, she didn’t want to let Noah down, and that placed her competitive (but friendly, of course) spirit at full mast.

She’ll give the people what they want.

So, she got ready, eyes on the screen, and the game started. The boys, of a high age range surprisingly, yelled and clapped. She lost the first round. On purpose. She didn’t want to crush his confidence, and more to the point, she wanted a fair fight. She wanted him to put his best foot forward before she won.

By now, she had discovered that this was a dancing game. That made this game actually fun.

“This round goes to you. Good job,” Rachel enthused, and the guy gave her a disrespectful look.

“The machine uh, told me that, kid.” A slight tittering among his audience.

Rachel smiled.

More money fell into the cap. And then round two. It was just like paying attention to a dance instructor while following the motions, and the little arrows were appropriately arranged. She was, as Noah would say, in the zone. The boy gave her a worried look, and the clapping lulled and then changed the tide completely.

Now this was fun. On fire inside, she added a little twirl as she came down on the arrows, the computer congratulating her with platitudes like ‘you owned it’ or ‘you rock’. ‘Thash’d them’ was a term she wasn’t familiar with, but it was refreshing to hear a non-biased party (of the computer) to reaffirm her suspicions.

“And that round’s mine,” she chirped, clapping her hands.

“Lucky.”

Round three. Round four. Round five. Round six. Level upon level. She had trained for this her whole life, and due to her daily exercises, she wasn’t breaking a sweat. She didn’t even glisten! The money went from the cap and just straight into Noah’s awaiting hands with heavy slaps. In the reflection of the machine, she saw him lick his fingers and count them. Count those numbers very well.

The surfer boy wasn’t only sweating. He was dripping, his hair plastered to his head, and he was now making a locomotive sound through his mouth.

“Do you need some water? You’d better take a few sips because electroly-.”

“Fuck you.”

She recoiled and crossed her arms. She had only been trying to help.

Noah looked up from his counting and his friendly tone was gone. “Don’t be a whiny bitch because you’re losing to a girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, or I’ll give you something to really cry about.”

The sore loser threw up his hands, and things seemed about to get violent but for the manager who had run up, pushing aside the crowd.

“Hey, are you soliciting here? Are you trading money? You can’t do that in my store. Not in my store. You kids need to give back-”

“Noah, I think I’m a little under the weather,” she said, quickly pulling his sleeve. He took up the idea enthusiastically, stuffing the money in his jean pocket and grabbing her hand.

“You mean you’re gonna hurl chunks?” he yelled, and they parted the crowd like Moses parted the Red Sea. “She’s going to blow! OUT OF THE WAY!” he yelled, as they fled the scene of their crime. There was a chorus of ‘ergh, gross out’ and ‘not in my STORE’. She thought he could have chosen a better choice of phrasing, but…

She couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a bit like Bonnie and Clyde.

***

“Stepping out of your comfort zone really does pay off,” Rachel lectured as they wandered the mall.

“I didn’t think you had boundaries,” he commented, all swagger again. They had had a great financial victory, so she excused it. She had a bounce in her step herself.

“I’m so glad you noticed! I try not to,” she confirmed proudly. “That’s me! No fences, no lines, no limits. I just push on through!”

His lips twitched and he looked up at the skylight.

“You know, you are very clever. Upon practical application.”

“What?” he asked, shocked.

“Your earlier ruse. I thought it was inspired,” she gushed.

“Weird. Usually I get some lame-ass lecture on my moral….like cereal content, or something, I don’t know.”

“Your moral fiber,” she offered, and he nodded.

“Innovation isn’t a bad thing by any means. It’s all a matter of presentation. Not to mention people’s own choices matter. I won on my own merits and hard work, and he had an equal chance. So it’s fair.”

Noah smiled at her. Not a smirky one or a ‘hot sex’…well…he smiled a sincere smile, and it brightened up the serious gloom that hung around him sometimes. She felt warm and happy inside, that she had brought that out in him, and had a sudden fear of losing it.

Friendship isn’t as simple as following notes of a song.

“And hey, it was your first time,” he said. “That was no lie.”

“Of course.” Rachel looked at the shops, feeling this connection was shaky, like walking a tight rope, and at the same time, worth preserving. “It’s for a good cause after all. Our friends will be thrilled. With the both of us.”

“Oh…yeah. For the Glee club.”

“Well. Your idea…so your earnings can be for anyone. I know you’ll use it wisely.”

“Right.” He tucked the folded bills back into his pocket.

“I must say, you’ve got a good mind for business,” she commented. Noah paused, and she followed his gaze to a music store.

“It’s half yours,” he said suddenly, and pulled out the cash again.

“No, I couldn’t.”

“Oh yes, you are. We bagged about a hundred and fifty. I’ll split it down the middle, and you can buy something here. You like all that music stuff.”

Noah stepped up and grabbed her hand, directing her commandingly towards the store. When he wanted something, he did go for it. She had to admire that quality.

Granted, he had pulled her along a lot tonight, but she didn’t exactly mind as she tried to decipher his touch or why it felt comfortable. He had calluses from hard work and from his guitar playing, and it was so different from Finn’s whose grip was never demanding and smooth as a child’s.

“I have a large collection of music, but you could choose something for me.”

“You won’t like it.”

“I appreciate all types of music. It’ll tell me so much about the real you,” she chirped, squeezing his hand excitedly. He let go quickly.

“Creepy much?” he asked. Her face fell. She really needed to catch up on that book. So it was really quite a surprise when he put his arm around her shoulders again. “Relax. I don’t really care. I’ll get you something good in here, and you can spaz out about it in private.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling to herself.

***

“Hey. Your idea—with golden boy and his job—was pretty decent. If that was a secret, though, you can’t keep them.”

She flushed over her green tea and was glad she was sitting down for this. They had returned to the dreaded food court, and apparently dreaded conversation had followed.

“Listen. I can’t let your relationship with the rest of New Directions be poisoned. I figured out that the baby was yours on my own. The others didn’t tell me.”

“Seriously?”

“Do you think they would tell me?” she pointed out.

“…No,” he said, sipping on his highly carbonated drink. “I believe you. But making up some Jewish baby disease was really fucked up. Just so you know. It’s always the…well, geeks that do the freaky, disturbing things.”

“I’d actually take that as a compliment if I could. Any reaction is better than no reaction, and disturbing means I…” She looked at his face, and then changed track, wringing her hands. “It’s a real disease, Noah.”

“My kid could have it? For real?”

“The pattern of the heredity makes that disease unlikely but yes, several children suffer from it. There’s a lot of risks, which is why I don’t know why you’d rather Finn handle it than you-.”

“Shut up,” he said harshly. “You don’t know what you are talking about. This isn’t a lala land song. This is our lives, here.”

“I won’t shut up, and I do know. You said earlier you didn’t think he was capable-”

“I don’t. You didn’t have to tell him, because I would have.” Oh she was glad they were sitting down. He pointed at her. Pointed at her over the table. She flinched. “That doofus, I wouldn’t trust him to take care of a freaking gold fish! Quinn may think I’d just step aside but I’m not that cruel to anyone. I’m going to have to shell out to get my kid intense therapy after living with him. I would have told him, damn straight.”

“If you disrespect him so very much, why are you friends?”

“Right back at you.”

Rachel felt as if she had been thrown in an icy pond. She flinched, because something about his words hit a mark.

“What’s your uh, plans with the golden boy? Huh? You always have these schedules, these outlines. Where does he fit in your plan?”

“You don’t plan for love,” she protested.

“Or a surprise pregnancy. No kidding. But way to dodge the question. Did you steal that line from a song? A line, where you don’t even know what it’s talking about,” Noah leaned back in his seat, staring at her and through her. No one had ever done this before, tried to get inside her head. She wished things were back to the status quo again because this kind of presumption made her irate.

She stared back, defiant. “I’d do what’s best for him. I’d listen to him, and encourage him, and make him feel like the most wonderful man-”

“Boy. But go ahead. This is getting good.”

“I’d appreciate him. I wouldn’t hurt him.”

“You couldn’t help yourself because you wouldn’t know the difference.”

“What?” It was her turn to be shocked. Now, he took on the posture that they were good friends and slid his chair closer. He was like a coach outlining the plays beforehand. Except he had a tick going off in his cheek and his eyes were darker than ever.

“Because you don’t see him like, as your equal. You don’t see any of us as your equals, but whatever, this isn’t about the rest of them. You think he’s a puppy you’ve got to feed and keep on a leash. Finn, in New York? Even you can’t be that delusional. What’s the guy supposed to do, hold your purse while you get rich and famous? Fuck, that’s cold. Really cold.”

She bit back tears of anger, but inside, she was feeling a deflation, a loss. Her stage background had just been ripped away to reveal a grimy, nasty brick wall. And it was making her dizzy. It was making the beautiful mall, the beautiful feeling, sickening and stark.

“You don’t know me. I…you underestimate what he can do, too.”

“He can join the club. But like, why do you like him? Because he fits the casting call to your life? He’s a prop, and you’re way worse than me and Quinn, putting him through that. In high school, sure, I’ll say it, he’s the perfect guy. He’s…they say he’s the best. He’s a nice guy, jock with a heart of gold, and that’s why you want him. Not for who he really is. You want him for an ego boost, and you’d step over an unborn kid to win him.”

“That’s not true. Not one bit.”

“She wants him. She had the right to choose. I don’t want to lose by default. It was a shitty stunt-”

“That I’ve acknowledged and apologized for.”

“Your masturbation fantasy versus the rest of her life. Not even a competition, Berry.”

“Well, one shouldn’t get themselves into that kind of situation, now, should they?”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about it,” he said, eyes hooded. A hot light filled her head, and what happened next she couldn’t have seen coming, or avoided. She had her mildly warm green tea in her hand, and before she knew it, her tea was all over his face.

He sputtered.

Because she was the kind of girl who never did things halfway, she threw the cup at him as well, where it bounced off the top of his half-bald head.

Only then did she flounce.

***

Rachel ended up fleeing outside and asking the bus driver to let her wait for the rest of the team. He didn’t seem to want to open the door, but it had started to rain. He grudgingly let her in.

Rachel spent the rest of the designated time on the bus, watching the blur of lights through the rain-streaked windows and condensation. The air was frigid and she abandoned all signs of dignity, curling up into a ball on the long backseat.

She was in turmoil, and her brain kept making her relive that scene again and again like a bad high school rendition of Hair. Noah Puckerman had done the unthinkable: he had popped her previously impenetrable bubble of calm.

For the first time in her life, she had misbehaved, had caused a scene, in public. She wasn’t a diva! There was the knot of frustration inside of her that just kept bunching up. Their interaction wasn’t like before: it seemed loaded and too real and a little ugly.

And this was new for her. No one would bother to waste the energy for personal ugliness towards her…never for her. With Rachel, their cruelty was the same as their kindness: plastic.

When Noah was kind, it was…

She sat up quickly as Kurt and Mercedes got back on the bus. The shuttles were so cheap that they had to go for two. The number: Finn and Santana and Mike, were in when she realized that she had left her CD at the food court. Guilty as she remembered that he had wanted to buy it for her, she’d told the driver she’d be right back. Leaving her bag there. Surely it would be safe. Outside it was drizzling (an odd memento of Finn’s designated name for his not-really-daughter). She ran the distance between the shuttle and the door, not because she wanted to, but because she needed to.

As she hurried through the dissipating crowd, she thought perhaps the weather was affected by her emotions. Like a great big mood ring. Connected to her psychic abilities? Will speculate on this again.

Rachel was half way up the escalator, reconfiguring her apologies to Noah, while her feet flew out from underneath her, the metal made slick by her shoes. One minute she was up, the next, a separate snapshot, she was down. She heard a hollow thunking sound, and wondered what that was.

Then she didn’t wonder anything at all for the next thirty minutes.

***

“The mall is closing in ten minutes.”

The motherly voice woke up her up, and she regretted it. There was the blanket shock but like red filling out the lines of a coloring book, the pain hit like a tide. At first, it was all one pulse of pain, but gradually she could tell the individual areas. Her head was cotton and achy. Her left wrist felt twisted. And her right knee.

It was a crescendo. She curled up, trying to touch the source of pain (as if that would help), and the metal teeth of the escalator stairs scratched along her back. She looked at her leg.

Her skin: her skin. Her skin, that she lotioned every day and didn’t take the route of the sun tanning bed and…was curled up from her leg like pencil shavings. It’d have to have scarred her leg. There was no question. Her knee was purple and when she moved it, there was something loose in it, she swore.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she sniffed them back.

She had to figure out how to orientate herself off this deathtrap. She looked at the bottom of the escalator (upside down) and thought she could crawl/slide down it. The most important thing was getting down. Pressing her good and bad hand along the metal sides, she started, inching along. The teeth did scrape her, but she was determined, even as she discovered even more places of pain. Her back hurt too, so badly.

Inch by inch, she made it to the lower level of the mall. It was ridiculous, to cry, but she wanted to sit in the floor and cry until she couldn’t anymore. As she was trying, her tongue hurt.

Did she bite off her tongue? Somehow? Her leg. And now…her tongue. Her tongue, her talent, the only thing she truly had, did she just…

She spat out blood but when she formed a weak ‘no’, the word was there. She ran her tongue along the back of the teeth, and held her face in her hands, breathing deeply.

“The mall is closing in five minutes.”

“No,” and she could still say it, and say it all she wanted, but it wouldn’t change the fact. The stores were closed and dark around her, double-chained. There were no people around. She got to her feet, wincing. She could put no pressure on her right leg, but she did what she always did in times of great difficulty. She saw a goal in her mind. It was easy. The door. Just get to the door.

One little step at the time, steadily.

Stores moved by. She used them as bench markers. She could make it, she had to.

And the end was almost in sight. There were the main doors, and the last, last employees walking out. She opened her mouth to call to them but sucked it back.

Creepy Mr. Corduroy. He was at the back of the line, and he stopped her first. Only him. She would call for help, to each of them, but the wind was still knocked out of her. She watched, knowing it would happen before it did. And it did.

He started to walk towards her. Concern was in his face, but she didn’t want him near her. She turned, hurting badly, and tried to move faster. This was a nightmare; she must still be unconscious on that stupidstupid escalator, in this stupid mall.

And it was stupid because no one could see her now but that horrible man, and she could hear him gaining. She stopped, prepared to defend herself. The balding man hadn’t stopped. Concern wasn’t in his face, nothing was. Nothing.

It was by far more frightening. She’d claw his eyes out, she would.

“Hey!”

She didn’t have time to turn; Noah pounded by her, his feet flying across the marble and the man turned and ran. She gaped after them, amazed, and tried to keep up. The mall lights lowered, and to her horror, she realized she was locked in.

***

Rachel’s next goal was to find a way to call Mr. Schue. Assuming that Noah hadn’t told anyone once he was outside. That he hadn’t been murdered. A lump formed in her throat at the thought, and something inside her heart wanted to scream. People weren’t perverts, or stalkers, without a knife or a gun. Noah might be dead on her behalf.

She had killed Noah.

No, it couldn’t be. She’d call, and it wouldn’t be true, and this would all go away.

In a panic, she limped to Dillards to look for a phone. She searched under the counters, ignoring the pain in her leg. Everything was locked up tight. She propped herself up, ready to go back out. That’s when she heard a metallic clang.

Apparently there was an automatic locking gate. Unthrilling.

She spotted the row of mattresses for sell towards the edge of the room. Head hurting, she stumbled towards one mattress to lay down. She missed it and hit the floor. And then couldn’t get up. She closed her eyes, trying to think. It was hard to think, with her heart pounding and a buzzing in her ears.

“Rachel! Are you dead in here?”

Sweet. Amazing. Beautiful. Relief hit her like a floodgate.

“NOAH!” she…wheezed but that was enough. A shadow materialized at the end of the aisle and seemed to spot her.

“Whoa,” he said, standing over her. “You’re messed up.”

“Why are you here?” she whispered.

“Uh. I’m locked in.”

“You came back.”

“Yeah, and my phone’s dead. I followed your gross trail—you’re bleeding, and then I got extra-locked in.”

“Is he gone?”

“I chased him outside. That asshole got out.”

That was enough for her. “I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“No. I thought…I was so sad I thought I could die,” she said.

There was a long silence. Good. She wanted to sleep.

“I’m gonna move you onto a mattress. Then I’m going to find a phone or a fire-alarm.”

“Sounds…groovy.”

If she were more awake, she would have been completely self-conscious. He gathered her up in his arms. She felt warm and safe, and that was a rarity. It was a kind of spark, a kind of ‘I could wrap myself up inside of you and never come out’ though…less creepy. Or just right.

Something.

“Don’t sleep,” he ordered, placing her on the best mattress (she thought). He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes, and that dissolved her good feelings towards him and how she was coping with this situation.

“Things like this don’t happen in America.”

“Things like this happen in America. Not Lima. I’m never leaving again, what a bunch of freaks.”

“Me?” she questioned weakly, and laid heavily on his arms, not wanting him to leave.

“They make you seem normal. The phone. I need to get some help for you.”

“Okie-dookie,” she laughed. “Ow,” she said later with regret. "Forget Lima. I'm never going in another mall."

"And this is your first time too," he drawled, though he struggled under her weight, and finally pulled his arms away.

"Shows how much you truly know about me. I was a child model at a mall. Ha. They paid me to start, and they loved me so much, that in their appreciation, they paid me to quit."

She heard him climbing over counters and struggling with locked drawers and counters.

“Rachel. Are you dead?” he checked.

“I’m not sure,” she called back.

“Fuck it.”

Glass shattered, hitting the tile, and she was jolted. An alarm went off. She struggled to get up, but Noah was there, pushing her back gently.

“That will get their attention. Don’t say I never did anything for you, Berry. I’m probably going to get arrested for that, or have to pay up. And you aren’t dead. Don’t say you might be dead if you’re not dead,” he argued, crawling onto the mattress. Studying her in the dark.

“I’ll try and remember to.”

He pulled her against him, propping her up, and she wasn’t very cold anymore.

“You are psychic.”

“Hmm?” she asked, liking his breathing on her neck. She searched and searched and found his hand. Gripped his tightly, marveling that the strength in his grip made her feel better.

“You said some bad shit was going to happen.”

“To someone else. Not to me,” she said, furrowing her brow. Hating the sound of that alarm.

“Did you fall because of me?” he asked.

“Water,” she corrected. “Not because of you. That’d be pretty impressive, if you could turn yourself into water.”

“Sounds dumb to me.”

She sniffed indignantly.

“Think of all the uses.”

“Just to keep you talking. I don’t think about turning…well. I could be in a bathtub while some hot babe was in it,” he marveled. “Huh. That is cool.”

“You. Are. So…” she sighed. “You.”

“That was deep.”

“I won’t be able to sing tomorrow. I won’t be able to dance. This was a big chance.”

“Hey. Hey, you still could. Judges eat this stuff up. Just go on there with a leg cast on. You’d do it anyway.”

She thought about it. “I guess I could. I will. I will, then.”

“Or you don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to…sometimes I even feel bad about it.”

“What?” She blinked awake. “Bad about what?”

“You’re always doing something. Like you have to do it, but it’s for other people too. I think the nerd club are losers.”

“They’re our friends,” she protested, getting angry with him again surprisingly fast. He played her emotions like his guitar.

“And they were making fun of you this whole week. Why don’t you sit back and let them lose? You could go solo after school.”

“I couldn’t do that. Everyone means well, and they do appreciate it.”

“You want them to like you that badly. Damn. Do you have any other friends? Any?”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m fine now, and you don’t have to talk to me anymore.”

“Why can’t you let things go? You’re the most non-fun person, ever, and you could be actually okay.”

“…I could?”

“A real human being? Yeah. I’m pretty sure. You were cool tonight, for most of it, when you’re not trying to help or perform for other people.”

Rachel mulled it over, and the reason why she could was due to her mind being so hazy, so hurt. She wanted to tell him things, bad things, good things…and just ugly things.

“If I back down once from an opportunity, it’ll be easier to do it again. And again. And so on, until I never try again. It’s like walking on a tight-rope. If I look down once, I’ll fall into the black pit of like…” She winced at the word. “I mean, I’ll just fall. I don’t want to lose any—any chance because I can’t…I can’t live with that as a memory. It’d torment me.”

She stared at the plaster ceiling, body close to his on the mattress; these things felt safe to share, in the dark. She had never even told her family about how she dwelled on failure.

(She lied about her lack of friendships.)

Sure, she knew that the other kids had their complaints, that they rolled their eyes steadily to chipchipchip away at her words, but all that meant was that she had to keep moving. They’d pull her down with their hooks. They’d drown her. And not really care much, either. They liked to win with her: Noah was right on that account. But if they lost, they could move on.

They could be content, if not happy. And if one of the girls would pass her by in the grocery store, complete with slippers on said woman’s feet –slipslip, a sleep-walker’s anathema and wave at her vaguely across an aisle while getting mad about how much the chip bag cost, well, what was it to them?

Not her. Rachel belonged in the light. She needed to convey feelings and make those songs her own and make the audience a part of the transcendental experience. No one is ever alone when there is a familiar story in the song after all.

“When you say ‘can’t live,’ you don’t mean—” He made a motion across his throat.

“No, no. God, no.”

“But what if you don’t make it, Rachel? What happens next?”

“Hard works always pays off,” she argued.

“Not really.” His tone was resigned. She wished she could make him see, but decided, this was a time to joke.

“If I broke my leg, we’ll find out.”

“That’s stupid. You’d be crying a lot more,” Noah said. He yanked her hair a bit but not in a mean way. Her breath caught.

“True.”

“I hate it, how you don’t let things go. Makes me wish I couldn’t let things go. My dad let everything go, you know. Everything.”

Rachel listened, having never heard this side of him before, but he was done. It was brief, and it was done.

“That’s funny. You have qualities I admire.”

“What. Ever.”

“You’re good with people when you want to be. And you are pretty determined but you deal…with reality. Practicality. Common sense.”

They were quiet, both amazed and scared and half-hating but half-not.

“You’re not that bad, Berry.”

“Neither are you.” He tipped her head back, and she hesitated but he whispered ‘let go, let me show you how,’ and she thought if there was any boy she’d surrender to—as if she would—it would be Noah Puckerman.

They don’t get to kiss.

Lights flooded the room, the metal gate crashed up, and they found themselves surrounded by guns and angry policemen.

It kind of killed the mood.

 

***

Rachel did get to sing.

Not in a cast but a leg brace. The judges thought her being there showed spirit. To her disappointment. She hoped it wasn’t just over her cast and not her natural talents and hard work.

Noah wasn’t there; he was being questioned by the police. Finn, who went to see him, said he could hear his mother screaming from the other side of the phone all the way into the next two rooms. Rachel didn’t have to be psychic to piece together the truth: Noah had left out a huge portion of the story. Mr. Schue, who talked to her privately to apologize, mentioned the police were following up on Corduroy.

But Finn never mentioned it. The other kids, who asked and asked about what had happened, only knew that she had fallen. And she was grateful for that. What really burrowed deep down in her heart was that Noah could have been praised: a clap on the back from Finn, and an admiring and considering look from Quinn.

He had chosen not to. She wasn’t sure what she would have done, if the roles were reversed, but she knew the choice she wanted to have made.

She spent most of the time in the emergency ward. However, she was able to attend her performance. Initially her dads were angry when she told them about it, but she talked them out of legal action. Her legs would be fine, and her head would be fine…but the accident (and how fast she could lose it) put things into perspective. It made her cherish her voice for her own sake again as well as open her eyes to what was outside of the club.

She couldn’t build her life on a house of cards. It had been a mixed blessing when she was half out of it in the store: if she had been threatened with being unable to sing for good, she would have been driven past fear, past reason, and into something horrible.

She did have the talent, and she did have the determination. But why not have more in life?

She had time to think about Noah, and about hard work. It didn’t seem to mean much if there was no one to share it with. Maybe that was the difference between being a star and a nobody. She had wanted her life to be perfect; she hadn’t wanted it in bubble wrap.

Oddly enough, she didn’t know why she was so afraid to approach him at the airport. He was sitting away from them all, and he didn’t look up, instead flipping his phone open and closed. Something secret inside of her responded to the sight of him, blooming open and low, and she understood why those women were looking long and hard. But keeping to the task at hand...

“I wanted to thank you for walking with me at the mall, and saving my life.”

“Don’t mention it.” Said like he meant it.

She looked out the window, at the gray sky. The same sky that was over Lima. “Of course. Friends don’t have to mention things.”

He stopped playing with the phone.

“We can be friends, right?” she asked. “I’d like a real one.”

Noah still didn’t look up, and she wanted to grab him by the bristles of his Mohawk. He let her hang there, but obviously…she wasn’t giving up.

“Sure. Why not?”

“GREAT. You won't regret it,” she said, clapping her hands. He might be terrible or not-so-terrible, but he’d be a true friend. In that, she had faith in him. She had treated him badly, but he had not left her behind.

There was no song for this feeling. “Well. I’ll go back to my seat now.”

“Wait. Here,” he said, not looking up, and handed her the CD. “I already have this.”

Rachel took it reverently, eyes wide and glowing like a kid at her surprise birthday party. It was too soon for the hugging phase. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to tell you what I think about it later.”

“I know you will.”

She felt his eyes follow her on the way back to her seat, and she smiled, happier than she had been in a very long time.


End file.
